CHAPTER 9 – Silence After the Sparring
After the training, the cell once again fell into silence, broken only by the sound of their own breathing. Alex sat on the cold floor, his back resting against the wall, eyes closed as he tried to calm the racing of his heart. The sparring with Lyra had left him exhausted, but also strangely satisfied. He could feel every muscle aching, reminding him of the effort he'd put in — and yet, there was something comforting in that pain. Something that told him he was no longer completely powerless.
When he heard the sound of the door opening again, he didn't even look up. By now, he knew what to expect — food tossed into the center of the cell without a word. He wasn't wrong; moments later, two clay bowls hit the stone floor with a loud clatter. The guard retreated quickly, locking the door with a quiet click.
Alex opened his eyes, staring with distaste at the murky, thick soup that looked like mud mixed with scraps. With a sigh, he reached for the bowl and pulled it closer. The smell was dull, heavy, and uninviting, but hunger overpowered his disgust.
He glanced at Lyra. The elf sat motionless on the bedding, staring at the ground, lost in thought. Her hair had fallen over her face, hiding it almost completely. Despite the visible exhaustion in her posture, she still radiated that same pride, strength, and determination that Alex so sorely lacked.
"You should eat something," he said at last, breaking the awkward silence. "It looks disgusting, but it's nutritious. If you plan to keep training me, you'll need the strength."
Lyra slowly lifted her head, her gaze drifting toward the bowl. For a moment, she said nothing, as if weighing whether it was even worth bothering. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, she shifted closer, sitting down across from him.
"Slave food always looks the same," she said flatly, dipping her fingers into the cold soup and tasting it without hesitation. "If you think this is the worst thing you'll face here, you're naïve."
Alex nodded slowly, ignoring her tone. He understood all too well that she wasn't saying it without reason. The past few days had made it painfully clear that his old life had only been a shallow glimpse of the brutality this world had to offer.
"Where are you from?" he asked suddenly, before thinking whether the question was appropriate.
Lyra froze with her hand halfway to her mouth, throwing him a sharp look. The distant coldness in her eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden alertness.
"Does it matter?" she asked coldly, though her voice held a hint of hesitation.
Alex shrugged lightly, trying to show the question came from curiosity, not judgment.
"I don't know," he replied calmly, meeting her eyes. "I'm just trying to understand how someone like you — someone who can fight like you — ended up in a place like this."
The elf was silent for a moment, staring at her bowl as if the answer might be found inside. Eventually, she looked back at him, and something shifted in her expression — something more human, less distant.
"You don't always get to choose where you end up," she said at last. "Doesn't matter how well you fight. There are things you can't outrun."
There was a weariness in her voice that hadn't been there before, and for a brief moment, the sharp gleam in her eyes dimmed. She wasn't only strength and defiance — there was pain, hidden deep inside, that now cracked through her mask.
"But at least you fought," Alex said softly.
Lyra looked at him again, this time with visible surprise.
"Maybe," she muttered reluctantly, then added with a faint, ironic smile, "If you survive the next week of training, maybe I'll think about teaching you something more."
Alex smiled despite himself. He knew he had just taken a step in the right direction. Despite her distance, Lyra was beginning to see him as something more than just another slave. She still didn't trust him fully, but something in her stance toward him was starting to shift.
They finished the rest of the meal in silence. The soup was thick, lumpy, tasted of dirt and something bitter — but it filled the stomach. When the bowl was empty, Lyra slowly moved back, leaning against the cold wall once more. Her eyelids began to droop, betraying how tired she truly was.
Alex felt the fatigue creeping in as well. He moved toward his bedding, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. The dimness of the cell was soothing, lulling him into rest.
Eventually, sleep overtook them both. The cell fell into complete silence once more, broken only by the steady rhythm of calm, even breathing.